


Normal Girl

by skcm (conzu)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Gift Giving, I can't believe how sad this is please shame me for making myself cry during the writing process, Jester gives Nott a pretty dress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conzu/pseuds/skcm
Summary: Jester has a gift for Nott. Intended as a prelude to what Nott does during her leisure time in episode 16 of campaign 2.





	Normal Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by a close friend of mine. "Jester gives Nott a pretty dress."
> 
> I almost immediately made it sad. I'm so sorry.
> 
> General warning for spoilers in terms of characterization, party bonds, things about Mollymauk. Oh, and so much about Nott. Hahaha.

The sun has finally gone down and as if married to the darkness, a chill wind fills the Pentamarket and rustles the aproned layers of a blue tiefling’s skirts. With all the robustness in her, she barely sways from the burden of towering packages in her arms, tiered thoughtfully from the largest at the base to the smallest atop them all. It’s clear someone else organized them this way, not from the defiant warmth that beats within her body, a fiery glare unflinching into the evening grey, but made apparent from the chaotic meandering of her navigation homeward. Each step feels driven from someplace skin-deep toward one and then another unexpected shop window, where she doesn’t stop to admire the goods within but to proudly wink at her own reflection. Never content to shy away from pretty things, Jester takes her time to return to the Leaky Tap, even as she’s bristling with excitement for one delivery in particular.

Dimly lit with the dancing light from scattered candles, the hay-floored tavern Jester has begun to call one of her favorite homes (in soft mutterings to herself and to the one always listening for her voice) is humble as every other day it has life breathing within its walls, a distinctly separate way of being from the troupe of colorful guests rooming here who struggle to remain anything but notorious in spite of their intentions. In a shadowed corner, the ragged frame of a tired pile of robes, wrappings, and goblin girl seems somewhat like a sentinel with a spotted ginger cat curled dutifully in her lap. The crescent halves of Nott’s lidded eyes are focused on the pages of a tattered book which she’s propped against the edge of the splintered wooden table. There are no baubles on her fingers or bands on her wrists to help support her as she reads and everything else about her feels tucked behind some other self, like a secret note not meant for eyes. Silently studying, it feels a little like she’s been struck from out of nowhere by an escaping swarm of frightened butterflies when Jester skips over.

In protestation of all things quiet, the tiefling’s singsong voice carries through the still tavern hall. “No-o-oo-o-tt! I have a question for yoooooou.” She leans over the book, considering herself privy to its pages’ words but only if they are upside-down. Two patrons well in their cups but stirred from the tenseness of a game of cards glance drowsily up at the abrupt shift in the room’s volume, but their attentions are ultimately fleeting and comfortingly elsewhere during these rousing ramblings. “I had to hold the question in for a _really long time_. Like when you want to fart in public but there’s no one else to blame it on, so what’s the point, ri-ight?”

Nott’s studies are quickly eclipsed by Jester’s light, even as she casts a spreading shadow over the spellbook. “I... have an answer?” The goblin tries to hide the jagged teeth within her grin.

Jester settles into a cross-legged position, still peeking over the edge of Nott’s little book as if the words are even discernible to her. Finally noticing this struggle, a sense of comfort washes over the smiling goblin like a warm sunrise as she allows herself to laugh.

“Nott, I have been _meaning_ to ask, dooooooooo yoooooooooouuuuuu... ” Jester begins, her effervescent words bubbling like an overflowing cauldron in which a mysterious brew steeps.

“Do I...?”

“Do yo-o-ou have a crush on anybody?!”

There is a mere glimpse of Nott’s momentary smirk. “That’s my secret.”

“Oh,” Jester sighs. “Oh. That is alright because I did not actually want to ask you that thing anyway! I wanted to knooooow... Do you like _presents_?!”

“I like... small things.”

Rolling her eyes, she lowers her voice and leans forward. “Do you like _big presents_?”

“I am not opposed to big presents, but...” Nott lets an uncertainty overwhelm her and Jester seems instantantly sucked into this hesitation. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows crest ever upward, but the freckles on her sinking cheeks fall like dying stars. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a present at all,” the goblin girl admits.

“None?” Jester cocks her head to the side. “Ever? No presents?”

“...No, I can’t remember getting one.”

“ _Good_ ,” the tiefling begins, her words more like giggles. “That means that I am giving yo-ou your first. Present. Ever. I am _so_ excited!”

“My first present ever,” Nott declares, her voice only somewhat more hoarse than usual.

“It is a ve-ery special present and you have to go upstairs for it! We can go to my room while Beau is doing... the things Beau does. She is probably getting punched a lot _right now_.”

Narrowing her eyes and nodding, Nott agrees to go along with whatever crazy plan Jester has in store almost as if blindfolded and in it for the adrenaline alone. If she doesn’t watch herself, Nott will wake up one morning turned into Mollymauk and the thought of being so open, so brimming with acceptance and yet still so unknown is immediately horrifying, and then it is comforting. Being around these weirdos has been an indescribable experience, but even with all the right words a few of them might still be very unkind. And yet, maybe this sort of inner conflict is what regular people doing regular people things get to feel because everyone else lets them. Maybe someday she will actually know.

Slamming the door behind them, Jester flounces around the room with her teetering packages in tow. With delicate hands, she rests one on Beau’s side of the bed. She casts another across the room with a reckless and wild grin. It lands Jester’s pile of pamphlets on the deity she so fervently binds every action she takes to the legacy of.

“For the Traveler! We are going to hang out again and talk about _stuff_ soon.”

“Stuff?” Busy eyeing the largest package, Nott asks Jester this with an absent mind, lulled by the prospect of _something for her_.

“Oh, _you know_ , stuff.”

“Oh.”

“That one is _yours_ , Nott!” Jester smiles, clapping her hands together. The small shared room stifles the sound and there is no reverberation except for the sheer energy of anticipation zipping around, an unheard but deeply felt thing. “Open it!”

Nott’s fingers itch as she lifts the corners of the box carefully and with stiff silence, as if she’s picking a lock or searching for a trap and hoping to herself that nothing kills her in the brief moment of a held breath that hangs spitefully on her like an hour inching its way around the face of a watch.

Inside, there is a folded black... something. A garment.

“It’s a dressssssssss for _yoooo-ou_.”

“A... dress?”

“YES. Take it out and try it on! I want to see how pretty you look in it.”

The dress is made of a dusky, rough fabric with a sheen to it and Nott is eager to try it on, to abandon her torn attire in favor of something with the alluring shine of newness. “Don’t look while I change. I need my privacy, you know.”

“I am closing my eyes _right now_. See?” It’s true. Jester has a hand cupped over her eyes, the thumb and pinky fingers split apart just enough that her eyes can peek through. She’s beaming.

“You can still see me, Jester. Turn around.”

“I am turning around!” Her feet shuffle as she turns, skirts swaying.

It’s then that Nott notices the shift of a pink petticoat among the layers of Jester’s clothing and something in her gut sinks. She feels like drinking as she lifts her sad robes over her head, leaving the filthy wrappings and bandages intact. Nott slips into this other black and worth-hiding thing, this dress. Fingers shimmying swiftly up the spine of buttons in the back, Nott’s thoughts drift to the color pink, a normal sort of color for normal sorts of girls--halflings, gnomes, elves, rosy-cheeked humans, and definitely not little goblins. It might look awful against her green skin which goes prickly and goosebumped when Nott thinks to herself _I wouldn’t even care if I looked bad. I am already rotten._

“Are you done yet?!” Jester asks, shifting from foot to foot with the same childish agitation one develops when they really need to pee.

“I am,” Nott says with confidence to her voice that jostles Jester. There is something amazing that happens every time Jester notices she has shaken something up, something felt so rigidly before, as if she’s allowed her friend to bend without breaking, to twist around and around without feeling any pain.

“You. Look. So good!” the tiefling shrieks with delight, all smiles and pride and never an ounce of emptiness to her words.

“I feel pretty!”

She doesn’t feel pretty enough, as if even in this lovely, special dress there is something missing and not-right. It probably hangs on her like a shabby tunic more than the form-fitting gown she expected. There is so much conflict it feels torrential, like one of Yasha’s storms. It isn’t a pink dress-- not one with cascading ruffles or a frilly skirt, not the one that she wants, but patting the creased and dark pleats of her new, big gift, Nott embraces the something-else there besides the claw of a little disappointment. It must be a little like knowing she’s special to someone-- it’s different than the way she protects Caleb, so _other_ than wanting to dive in front of someone to take the brunt of an attack because she must. In this heartbeat, Nott understands what it’s like to be beloved like the gem set in a ring. Beloved is nothing and everything like standing out, but not the sort of outstanding that gets bottles thrown at you, that leaves you run out of a town yet again. It feels like standing out to a single person, to a friend, and it is the most overwhelming thing Nott has ever felt. She’s going to need whiskey for her second dinner because she will be fine-- and still anything but normal.


End file.
